


And Hell Followed With Him

by bythehighwayside



Category: Supernatural
Genre: John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, POV John Winchester, Pre-Series, i'm always caught between wanting to slap John and wanting to give him a hug, lord knows he deserves both, one non-graphic instance of child abuse, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythehighwayside/pseuds/bythehighwayside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For a long time John never catches them doing anything he can put a name to, anything he can point at and say, 'Boys, this is wrong, and sick, and has to stop.'"<br/>It takes John a while to notice at first, but once he does he can't stop noticing. But maybe if he ignores it they'll grow of it on their own, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Hell Followed With Him

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so please feel free to point out any errors, should you catch them.

For a long time John never catches them doing anything he can put a name to, anything he can point at and say, “Boys, this is wrong, and sick, and has to stop.”

He starts noticing it at random, one night when he comes home after a long day of canvassing the area, and his boys are sprawled across the couch in their rental house, in front of the TV. Sam’s asleep, body slumped between Dean’s legs, head pillowed on his stomach, fist curled up against his big brother’s thigh. Dean has his fingers threaded through Sam’s hair. They’re thirteen and seventeen. John never had brothers, but he knows this isn’t normal.

Even knowing that, he’d write it off – add it to the list of things he’s in denial about – if it weren’t for Dean’s face. 

If John told Dean to jump in front of a speeding truck he’d do it, but he’s never looked at John with that kind of devotion. He’s not even pretending to look at the television, gazing down at Sam like he wants to drink all of him in, get wasted on it. Like he’s never seen anything better, anything more precious. It’s love of the highest order, and it makes John sick to his stomach. Mary used to look at him like that.

After that it become so obvious, so terribly, painfully obvious, that it seems a wonder it took him this long to see it. Dean still goes out with pretty girls in the next town and the next, but never the same one twice. Instead of making it better it just adds up as more damning proof. John could have coped with this being a physical thing; two teenage boys cooped up too close for too long without enough time to themselves, tensions running high, that kind of thing held the promise of a passing phase.

Really, as far as he can see, there isn’t much physical about it, not in a way he could call out. It’s all fond smiles and long touches on shoulders, and leaning and sprawling all over each other on couches and in the backseat of the car. Sam’s always had light, easy hands with a needle and bandages, but he’s especially gentle with Dean’s wounds. Tender, even. John can hardly stand to see it. Jack, Jim, and Jose have always bee good friends of John’s after a hunt, but they’re his roommates now, sharing this body of his full time, blurring his eyes so he can’t see the way his sons curl around each other at night in motel beds they have to share.

He thinks about saying something once. Well, he thinks about it a lot of times, but once he gets close. Sam’s already asleep, and Dean’s coming out of the bathroom in boxer shorts that have cars printed on them, and an old t-shirt.

He’s moving towards the bed, and John knows once he slips under the covers Sam will roll into him, turn into his chest, and Dean will let a hand rest on his brother’s hips in the name of sleepy comfort and soothing nightmares. It isn’t normal, and John opens his mouth to say something, to force Dean to see that this is a problem, but he only gets out his son’s name before he chokes on his own tongue.

Dean turns around with sleep green eyes and says, “Yeah, Dad?” so easy, and there’s a little bit of toothpaste smeared around his mouth, and John can’t bring himself to say anything more.

“Nothing, never mind. Goodnight.”

He should have gotten it over with then, with only the quiet fallout of Dean’s flushed cheeks and an embarrassed, “Yessir.” It should have happened that way.

Like so many other things in their lives, it only gets worse as time goes on, and John plays dumb for as long as he can, waiting for them to grow out of it. But the taller and more stubborn Sam gets the more Dean keeps his eyes on him, and it’s not as if Dean’s getting old and gray any time soon. All John can do is try to keep them apart as much as he can, taking Dean on more and more hunts.

Even that’s bust, because Sam will absolutely not hear of it, insists that it’s dangerous and irresponsible to leave him alone for more than a week at a time, because what if someone finds out and calls DCFS on them, hmm? It wouldn’t be the first time. With how much they fight about already, John can’t afford to add this to the list, so for the thousandth time in as many days he allows their personal lives to slide to the backburner and throws himself into the hunting.

Eventually John’s bad luck catches up with him, and he gets home just a little too late one night – but earlier than he’d said – passing the front window just in time to see his sons lean around the corner of the table to meet each others lips. It happens soft and slow, not raunchy, not lusty and greedy, but there’s still a hunger to it, a push-pull. The softness only makes it worse, Dean’s hands coming up to cradle his little brother’s face and waiting, suspending them for a still moment in time that John should use to push his way through the door and stop them, but doesn’t, because he can’t seem to move his legs. 

It’s Sam who finally does it, closes the space between them and bumps their lips together, and John walks away.

He walks himself straight into the closest bar and gets himself plastered, and when the bartender asks what’s troubling him he laughs himself into hysterics and doesn’t tell her. Of course he doesn’t tell her, how could he?

When he stumbles back to the motel only Dean is still awake, cleaning guns at the table. John says, “Come outside,” and he’s always been a mean drunk, always.

Dean follows him around the back of the motel without a bad feeling or a second though, stands in that back alley like he hasn’t got a thing to be ashamed of. He looks happy, even, his face glowing a little the way Mary’s used to. It’s hard to be sure, but John thinks that’s what prompts the first hit.

Dean goes down hard, shocked, skin smarting, and John says, “You and Sam – you aren’t sharing beds anymore.” Dean’s face goes cold and he knows, he knows what this is about. And thank God for that, because John isn’t sure how he’d get the words off his tongue.

John’s knuckles get a little bruised from all the sense they have to knock into Dean, but it’s not so bad that they bleed. He goes to bed while Dean is still a curled-up wreck on the ground outside, but hears it when he comes in later, crying, and falls asleep on the floor. It isn’t a night John’s proud of.

Sam leaves for college not even six months after that, tension between the three of them at an all-time high. John can’t help wondering if he still would’ve gone had Dean been allowed to go on kissing him that entire time. He promises himself it wouldn’t have been worth it, in any case.

It seems logical that things should be easier after Sam leaves, that Dean and John should be able to go back to normal, tracking down the thing that killed Mary and fighting the good fight along the way. But it doesn’t work that way.

After Sam leaves they spend more time working alone than they do together, and even so, John can see that Dean is taking a nose dive for rock bottom hard and fast, turning restless and near silent. He’s a mirror image of John himself after Mary died, and isn’t that just the clincher.

Some nights John sits up and prays to Mary, because even dead she’s the only thing he can really trust, and more often than not his prayers are a solid litany of, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. John thinks a lot of things about his sons, but he never fools himself into believing it isn’t his fault.

When his boys find him, all of them together again after almost five years, it’s plain as ever that “growing out of it” was never more than a pipe dream.

It’s almost as if that night behind the motel never happened, all the touching and the long looks; John’s seen them do this song and dance before. Dean isn’t afraid of John anymore, not with his Sammy back, and whatever happened with Jessica and however torn up Sam is, it’s over now. John can barely bring himself to look at them, but he makes it happen.

Dean smiles for the first time in years, even if John can hardly stomach the sight with the heavy knowledge of what’s behind it, and Sam’s more dedicated to the mission than ever. What could John really do, anyway?

All these years, especially those last four, he’d assumed Dean had it much worse, the way he acted like Sam was the sole center of his universe even when it was obvious Sam had other things on his mind. In the hospital, though, with Dean’s feet falling fast into the grave, it becomes apparent that John was, once again, wrong.

Desperation leaks off of Sam so heavy and thick that it seeps into John’s brain, saying that if he can’t stop this, he might as well use it. That’s when he makes the deal.

If Dean dies, Sam will be gone, that much is clear. Gone to move on or gone to follow him, John isn’t sure, but both are just different paths leading to the same end. And as much as he likes to pretend otherwise, John can’t take Yellow Eyes himself. Sam and Dean together, though, with a push in the right direction and enough motivation, could ice him, John is sure. A dead mother, a dead girlfriend; throw a dead father into the mix and they won’t give up until Yellow Eyes is dust. The deal practically seals itself.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've got any questions/comments/desire to talk to me about your own opinions on John Winchester's a+ parenting or literally anything else, please drop me a comment here or send me a message over at bythehighwayside.tumblr.com


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